Hank's Mountain Lion
by anjelica
Summary: A spinoff short story from the official DQMW forum's pass it along fanfic begun by Gina, Hank's Mountain Lion describes what happens when a joke becomes all too real, and amusingly so.


The sun rose as Hank saddled his horse. He was still feeling stiff; he had passed out in a drunken stupor the night before, and was having the mother of all hangovers. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into one of the Nugget's soft beds and sleep---but he needed to check his traps. Jake made it clear that he had no intentions of riding out anywhere today. Must be payday for Mrs. Morales, Hank thought to himself, smirking.

Wincing from a throbbing head, he rode away from town.

Hank wasn't a man for deep introspection, but on this morning, he found himself thinking about the past couple of weeks. He absently brushed tree branches away from his face as he got used to the horse's pace.

He'd never expected Michaela to approve of him, but now, alone, with a dreadful headache, he could admit that he wanted her to. Even a little. He always knew she had a passionate nature; what else would you expect from a woman who left her home and family to live in a place where she knew no one? Only Michaela had channelled her energies into her work, her causes, her beliefs, her children...but now that she was married, she was showering the same zeal on her husband.

"Lucky bastard," Hank said aloud. Sully bore the marks of frenzied, passionate loving; what Hank wouldn't give to experience that kind of attention from a prim and proper lady from Boston! They must be burning the sheets in that homestead of theirs. Or teepees, as the case may be, he added nastily.

His horse suddenly threw its head, interrupting his musings.

"Whoa, easy," he drawled, his lazy tone belying the way he quickly looked around. He patted the horse's neck, feeling it respond to his soothing voice.

They were near one of his favorite trapping spots, he noticed. He dismounted and absently looped the reins over a tree branch, and began walking through the trees to reach the trap.

When he got there, he stared at it in dismay. What looked like the remains of a small deer was mangled almost beyond recognition. It looked to be a few days old.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath. It was messy, but he had to reset the trap and clean it; they weren't exactly making money from the Gold Nugget, and he couldn't afford to waste a perfectly good trap.

The job done, he walked a little ways and squatted by a stream, and began washing himself off.

A growl nearby made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

He slowly looked up. Seeing nothing across the bank, he turned his head. Another growl alerted him.

"I don't believe it," he muttered, staring.

A mountain lion crouched nearby, its tail beginning to swing from side to side.

"Shoo! Shoo!" he shouted, waving his arms. Belatedly, he realized that he had taken his gunbelt off and placed it on a rock before he washed in the stream. Cursing himself for a fool, he began throwing rocks at the animal.

It wouldn't go away. Hank realized that it was because he smelled like deer blood. He had one choice: to go for his gun and risk the cougar's charging him.

Taking a deep breath, he made his move, diving for the gunbelt, ignoring the tearing of his clothes on the sharp stones along the streambank. The mountain lion reacted swiftly. It pounced, its claws raking across Hank's arm as he fended it away from his face, its jaws snapping at him and barely missing his shoulder. Hank felt lines of fire across his chest as it swiped at him again. His fingers found what they needed, settled into the familiar grip, and he squeezed the trigger.

"Take that," Hank said to the now-dead animal. He felt a renewal of his headache. Now it seemed as if his head were pounding in time with his bleeding.

He limped towards his horse, and gingerly clambered onto the saddle like an old man. As he turned towards town, who should appear but Sully?

"Hank. You're hurt," Sully said.

"Yeah, nothin' too serious," Hank replied.

"The homestead's closer---Michaela's still at home, and you're bleedin' pretty bad."

Hank grunted. "Lead the way."

As they rode towards the homestead, Sully asked Hank what happened.

"You'll never guess," Hank said. "It was a mountain lion."

"There's one hanging around," Sully agreed.

"This one'll stay dead, believe me. I'll have to come back for it."

"I'll take care of it for you. Back at the stream?"

"Yeah." Then Hank added, "thanks."

Sully nodded.

"You sure know your mountain lions," Hank couldn't resist saying.

Sully surprised him by smiling. "Yep, as a matter of fact, I do."

Later, when Hank got back in town, Loren remarked on his bandaged appearance. Hank privately thought Michaela was having one on him by swathing him like a mummy.

"What in blazes happened to you?" Loren asked. He suddenly grinned. "Mountain lion get you too?"

Hank laughed; he couldn't, didn't want to stop, even though his head ached, and his wounds hurt.

Mountain lions. There sure were a lot of them these days.


End file.
